Growing Things

And that is how we lost. There was no good and evil, I am told—although it certainly felt that way. Destiny may have played a hand, but I have also been told that I couldn't possibly hope to understand the concept of fate. Love, as Sachever said, won. But it hasn't always—no matter what he believes. Love did not win for Dr. Epstein. Love did not win for Thistle.

Maybe I don't understand love, either.

But anyway, that is how we lost, even if I still do not know why. It is also how I wound up here, three days later, standing outside a gas station and reading the newspaper headlines from a vending machine.

"Hungry Ghosts Busted," says one—it mentions acting on a report sent in by a former employer… whose name is not included in the article for his own protection. It mentions that several of the key suspects—the ringleaders—are still not in custody. They're on the lam. Fugitives. I have to smile about that one. Sorry Triss, Jethro, Gladiola, Fabian, Holiday, Kit, and all the others. But Jack and me—we're not ready to give it up, yet.

"These poor kids," an Officer Clark is quoted as saying in the article. "They're a bunch of runaways—from their parents, the Home. They were all but brainwashed by these guys."

Several of the Newly Dead—the younger Newly Dead—will be sent back to the Home. I'm sorry for them, but maybe someday… we'll find them again.

After some time, Jack Dandy comes out of the gas station, carrying two Styrofoam cups. The bells on the door jangle merrily. He hands me my coffee. Grins.

"Anything interesting?" he asks, squatting down in front of the newspaper machine.

"Nothing we don't already know," I say, carefully sipping my coffee. …Disgusting.

"Well, Lory?" he asks. "Where to next?"

I shrug.

"I don't know any more now than when you asked me last night. Anyway, you're the boss."

"That's right," he says, grinning. "Well, wherever we're going, let's go already, and not waste time standing around here."

"Wait a second," I say. "Let's just stand outside for a little bit. We've been cooped up in that car for too long."

"Yeah—and it's gonna be longer! …We need to figure out where we're going, you know."

It's warm, I notice. The snow is turning to slush already. Spring will be early this year. "Let's go to the coast," I say, closing my eyes and tipping my face up to catch the sunshine. I recall having a feeling, once, that everything would be all right, if we could just make it to the coast. …Of course, that was a different 'we.'

"All right," Jack says. "Sounds good to me." He grins. …This 'we' isn't so bad, though, I decide.

"Things are going to be different, this time," I say.

"Yes, they are," he agrees.

And they will be. We're smarter, now. I think Jack trusts me a little more. And I trust him a little less. I'd still die for him, of course. Now I'd want to know why, though, first.

"Come on," Jack says. "Let's go. To the coast."

"To the coast," I repeat. He laughs, raises his coffee cup. It's a second before I realize that we've just made a toast.

Jack is just turning to go when suddenly, in my coat pocket, something rings.

"Your phone, Lory?" he asks.

"It couldn't be," I say, bemused. "It was in the house, by my bed. …I left it there, before we went to the Temple." It's still ringing, however, and I pull it out of the pocket. It is indeed my phone.

"Who—" I wonder.

"Answer it," Jack urges.

And so I do.

For a second, silence, and then:

"Starry-Eyes?" The voice is a young girl's.

"It's you?" I ask, disbelieving it. Why would she…? How?

"I know you're angry with me," she says.

"Damn straight!" I say without thinking.

"You have no right to be," she continues. "After all I've done for you. After all I've told you. I know you're angry, but it's only because you're foolish."

"What do you want from me?" I demand. Jack gives me a look.

"Who is it?" he mouths.

"Absolutely nothing!" she cries defensively. "Only checking up on you. You seem awfully grouchy, my Defender of Mankind. Does sleeping on car seats not agree with you?"

"This is all your fault," I find myself saying. "You and your stupid Shekinah, and your sword. We never did find out where it came from… How he used it…"

There is a pause.

"The sword is an old bauble of mine," she says at last. "I gave it to another man, once, when the world had great need of it. It was a long time ago." She giggles softly. "I called it Excalibur, then." I inadvertently gasp in astonishment, but she continues as if she hasn't heard me. "You were alive, then, too, Starry-Eyes—although you, too, I called by a different name. It may be that that was when you began running from me. I can't remember, now—it's been so long. …Things were simpler, then. A sword was a sword. I have to spice things up, now. Add lights to it, special effects. You people expect more. You people expect to find ringing telephones in your coat pockets. And I don't disappoint."

"So it was you who put it there," I mutter. "Well, what do you want?"

"I know you're angry with me, Starry-Eyes, but just wait a tiny bit. I'll make it up to you."

Then the line goes dead. Angrily, I shove the phone back into my pocket.

"Who—" Jack starts to ask again, when the phone suddenly rings once more. I sigh in frustration, pull it back out of my pocket.

"What?" I ask angrily into it. "What do you want now?"

There is a pause, and then unsurely from the other end, "…Alister?"

It takes me a second, and then I look up at Jack in disbelief—as if he can explain this to me.

"Edward?" I ask.

"Yeah," he says nervously. "Hey, you guys have been all over the news. What happened?"

"We got caught," I say. "Obviously."

"Obviously. How'd you get away?"

"Why did you call me, Edward?" I ask, suspicious. Is he with the Seraphim? Are they tracing our location?

On the other end of the phone, he sighs. Somewhere in the background I hear Ann-Marie crying, and I wish for a moment that I could be there. That I could see her and Beatriz.

"Look, Alister," he says, finally. "I know that over the few years I've known you, there's been no love lost between the two of us."

"True," I say carefully.

"But… I was thinking about what you said to me that day. About being a hypocrite."

I don't say anything—wait for him to continue.

"And I… I do agree with your cause. And I know other people who do, too. I'll admit it—I'm not brave enough to do what you do. But I want to help you."

"You want to help us?" I ask, completely stupefied. "How?"

"Money," he said simply. "We want to give you money."

"We?" I wonder. "Who's 'we?'"

"Me. Mr. McToad. Stefan Walton, and Derek Winters. Money, Alister. It's the least I can do."

"But why?" I wonder.

"Because I believe in what you're doing. I think you're right. The world was ours. And we should get it back—any way we can. …But, I can't be out there with all of you. I can't fight like you can. I… I have an image to uphold. I want to help, but… I want to be remembered, too, Alister. And I think, doing this, I will be. If no one ever finds out, then I'll be remembered as a good politician. And if someone does find out, then they'll remember me, maybe, as a rogue—for funding you. And if you succeed, then I'll be remembered for helping you save the world. Any way it happens, it happens. …Where shall I send the money?"

It takes me a moment to answer, to absorb all that he's just told me.

"I… I don't know where, yet," I say after a moment. "I guess I'll call you when we get there."

"Do that. …Well, good luck, then."

"Wait, Edward. I have a question, first. Did you… Did you tell Beatriz about this? Does Beatriz know?"

"Beatriz…? No. I didn't tell her. I'm not going to, Alister. She feels differently about it. She'd hate us."

"I know. Thank you," I mumble.

"It's the least I can do."

"But really… Thank you. Maybe you're not the worst brother-in-law in the world."

He laughs.

"And maybe you're not, either. I'll talk to you later, I suppose."

"Count on it."

"Goodbye, Alister."

"Goodbye, Edward."

Once again, the line goes dead.

"What just happened?" Jack asks.

I put the phone carefully back into my coat pocket, smiling suddenly.

"I don't know," I tell Jack, completely truthfully. "Edward wants to give us money."

"Edward?"

"Yes, Edward. He wants to help."

"He wants to help," Jack repeats, perplexed, and then grins after a second. "Well, good for him. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, they say. Although I've never understood what a gift horse is."

"If we're getting money from it, I don't care if it's a horse or—as in Edward's case—a jackass."

Jack laughs.

"You'd better watch it, from now on. Hey, have you had enough fresh air, yet? Are you ready to sit in a car for another six hours?"

"I suppose," I sigh, but don't move when he turns to go.

"Jack," I say, after a moment. "Things… things really are going to be different this time, aren't they?"

He turns back toward me, looks around the empty parking lot as if there is some other Jack to whom I must be addressing this idiotic question.

"Of course things are going to be different, Lory. Things couldn't be the same even if we wanted them to be the same. It's like that Hercules guy said—you can't step in the same river twice."

"That was Heraclitus."

"Yeah, whatever. You know what I mean. It will be different, this time. I mean, first of all, no Sachever, right? We left him way behind."

"But he could follow."

"And no Gemma."

"Gemma is everywhere."

"What are you trying to say?"

"I don't know."

"You're trying to subtly hint something, aren't you? Just come out and say it. You know I'll never figure it out, Lory."

"Well, I…" I stutter. I don't want to say it. I don't want to make him angry, but… "Jack," I finally get out. "It's just that… Sachever, Gemma. We can't control that sort of thing. If it happens, it happens. What has to be different is, I guess… us."

Jack nods thoughtfully, surprising me a little bit.

"I mean," I continue, looking down at the ground, at my dirty shoes, "We have to trust each other more, Jack."

"This is about Thistle, isn't it?" he asks. Surprised, I look up at him. Our eyes meet for a moment, and then I look away again.

"Yes," I admit, "It is."

"It's about Magdalena, too, isn't it?"

"You knew," I said. "All along you knew what she was doing. But you wouldn't listen—"

"I didn't want to listen. And you couldn't see what Thistle was doing to you, either. It really was the same in the end, Lory. You have to see that, now."

"I do," I say. "I just… I just don't want it to happen again."

"So it won't," he says, grinning.

"How—" I start to ask, but he cuts me off.

"Because it just won't, that's all. I won't let it. You just said it—we've gotta trust each other more. I guess, in the end, we're all we have. We're all we can really count on, for keeping the cause alive."

"That's true," I say, worrying at the edge of my Styrofoam cup.

"Let's get going, Lory," Jack says, turning and starting once again toward the van.

"One more thing," I say, looking up after him. The sun is glaring harshly off of the parked cars' windshields, now, and I have to squint to see him. A corona of light spills out from around him, making him look like a demi-god. And still, I don't understand what it is about him that attracts people like moths to a flame. He's perfectly, undeniably human. Not a demi-god. Not any master manipulator of fate, or death, or illusion. He's only Jack Dandy. And I do trust him—trust in him. I do.

"Jack," I wonder, "Are we… are we running away?"

He grins, and in the glare his teeth look so white. Whiter than the hair of any ancient sage. White with the intensity of a burning star.

White like lightning.

"No, Lory," he says. "We're running toward."